The Great Miss Driver

"Earth's not heaven. Try to let Lord Fillingford see what you've shown me."

"What do you mean, Austin?"

"You don't mind my saying it? It's another of those things that one generally doesn't care to talk about. Try to show him that you love her very much, and that next in order – and not quite out of sight either – comes your father. Don't treat it casually – as if you were telling him you were going to dine out – though I daresay that's the etiquette. Try the open heart against the hidden one. You appreciate his case. Show him you do. That's my advice."

"It's good advice. I'll try." He came to me holding out his hand. "And wish me good luck!"

"You've had as fine a slice of luck to-day as happens to most men. Here's to another!"

He wrung my hand hard. "I've made an ass of myself, I suppose!" That was homage to the etiquette. "I'll remember what you've said. He has a case, by Jove, and a strong one!" He smiled again. "Somehow Margaret's case won, though," he ended.

He went his way – a straight lad and a simple gentleman. He had no idea that any schemes had been afoot, that any wires had been pulled, either for him or against his father – if to get this thing done were indeed against Fillingford. Nor had he any idea that his scruples about family loyalty were to be annihilated by the intervention of a fairy godmother. Jenny had stuck to the romantic color of her scheme. She sent him forth to meet his father with no plea in extenuation, with no proffer of gold wherewith to gild the hated name of Octon. His fight was to be single-handed. So she chose to prove his metal – with, perhaps, a side-thought that the fairy godmother's intervention, coming later, might be more effective – and would certainly gain in picturesqueness! That notion, unflattering maybe, one could not easily dismiss when the workings of her mind were in question. Yet it might be that a finer idea was there – that it was not only Lacey's metal which was to be proved that night. She had said that she was ready to bribe, that she might have to bully – and implied that she was prepared to do both at once, if need be. But had it come across her thoughts that, by divine chance, she might have to do neither? She knew Fillingford's love for his son; she had sent Margaret to met Fillingford that he might see her as she was. She might be minded now to prove if love alone would not serve the turn. The battalions might all be held in leash – and the God of Love himself sent forth as herald to a parley. If Fillingford surrendered to that pleading, the victory would not be so purely Jenny's: but she would, I believed, have the grace to like it better. That it was a less characteristic mode of proceeding had to be admitted: but to-day there would be an atmosphere at the Priory which might incline her to it. She would not force Fillingford, if she need not – neither by threats nor by bribes. Being myself, I suppose, somewhat touched by Amyas Lacey's exaltation, I found myself hoping that she would try – first – the appeal of heart to heart. That she would accept it as final – I knew too much to look for that.

The case could not, in its nature, be so simple. With the appeal of love must come that relief from a greater fear which she had carefully implanted, on which she certainly reckoned. That was in the very marrow of her plan; no romantic fancies could get rid of it. The best excuse for it lay in the fact that it would certainly be useful, and was probably necessary. When things are certainly useful and probably necessary, the world is apt to exhibit toward them a certain leniency of judgment. Jenny did not set herself above the world in moral matters.

I went up to the Priory after dinner, availing myself of Jenny's strictly defined invitation. But up there I made a blunder. I blundered into a room where one person at least did not want me – I am not so sure about the other. Dormer had gone clean out of my head; more serious matters were to the front. Heedlessly I charged into the library; there were he and Jenny! Luckily I seemed to have arrived only at the tail-end of their conversation. "Quite final," were the words I heard from her lips as I opened the door. She was standing opposite Dormer, looking demurely resolute, but quite gentle and friendly. He was looking not much distressed, but most remarkably sulky.

I tried to back out, but she called me in. "Come in, Austin. You're just in time to bid Mr. Dormer good night."

He shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose I'd better be off. I'll pick up the car at the stables."

"Good night. We shall see you again some day soon?"

"I don't know about that. I may go away for a bit – and anyhow I expect to be pretty busy."

"Oh, yes, we shall see you again some day soon!" she said very kindly and persuasively. "You won't let it be too long, will you? And you will see Mr. Cartmell about that business, won't you?"

He nodded in an offhand surly fashion – but he might be excused for being a little out of temper. Evidently he was not going to get Jenny's land; apparently she was still to get what she wanted of his. "You'll have to pay for them!" he reminded her, almost threateningly.

"A fancy price for my fancy? Well, I'm always ready to pay that," said Jenny. "Good night and, mind you, quite soon!" Her tone implied real anxiety to see her friend again; under its influence he gave a half-unwilling nod of assent.

I escorted him as far as the hall door – further than that he declined my company. I held a match for him to light his cigar and gave him a stirrup-cup. "Good night, Austin!" Then his irritation got the better of him. "Damn it, does she want Lacey for herself, after all?" Evidently the great event of the day – from our point of view – had not been confided to him.

"Oh, no, you may be sure she doesn't."

"Then what the deuce she does want I don't know – and I don't believe she does!" With this parting grumble he slouched off sulkily toward the stable.

As a humane man, I was sorry for his plight; Jenny was still serenely ruthless.

"Annoyed, isn't he?" she asked when I rejoined her. "Really I was rather glad when you came in. He had got as far as hinting that I – he put a good deal of emphasis on his 'you' – ought to have jumped at him! It's quite possible that he'd have become more explicit – though it wouldn't have come very well from him under the circumstances."

"You've deluded the young man, you know."

"Oh, it'll do him good," she declared impatiently. "Didn't he deserve to be deluded? He wanted me for what I had, not for myself. Well, I don't so much mind that, but I tell you, Austin, he patronized me! I may be a sinner, but I'm not going to be patronized by Gerald Dormer without hitting back."

"Did you quarrel?"

She smiled. "No. I'm never going to quarrel any more. He'll be back here in no time – and have another try most likely! You see, I'm going into training – a course of amiability, so as to be ready for Lady Sarah." She sprang to her feet. "Do you know that this is a most exciting evening?"

"Oh, yes, I can imagine that. I've had a long talk with Lacey."

"Have you? Isn't he splendid, poor boy? You should have seen his face when I sent him to her! He thought of nothing but her then – but I like him for thinking of his father now. And I've brought it off, Austin! He thinks there may be just a pretty wedding present – a trousseau check, perhaps!" She came up to me. "This is a good thing I've done – to set against the rest."

"I think it is. But the boy feels horribly guilty."

She nodded. "I know – and so does poor Margaret. I'm afraid she's crying up in her own den – and that's not right for to-night, is it?"

"Love's joy and woe can be simultaneous as well as alternate, I'm afraid."

"I can't stand it much longer." She looked at the clock. "He's to send word over to-night, if he can – by a groom – how he's got on – breaking the news, you know. Let's go out into the garden and wait for this important messenger. But, whatever he says, I believe I shall have to put my oar in to-morrow. I can't have my poor Margaret like this much longer. She knows now why she was taken to Mr. Alison's, and does nothing but declare that she behaved atrociously!"

We were a silent pair of watchers. Jenny's whole soul seemed absorbed in waiting. She spoke only once – in words which betrayed the line of her thoughts. "If I'd thought it would be as bad as this – for her, I mean – I believe I'd have brought her here under another name, in spite of everything, and perpetrated a fraud! I could have told them after the wedding!"

I was afraid that she would have been quite capable of such villainy where Margaret was in question, and not altogether averse from a dénoûment so dramatic.

"Either Lacey's shirked the interview – or it's been a very long one," I remarked, as the clock over the stables struck half-past ten. "Poor Dormer's home by now – to solitude!"

"Oh, bother Mr. Dormer and his solitude! Listen, do you hear hoofs?"

"I can't say I do," I rejoined, lighting my pipe.

"How you can smoke!" she exclaimed scornfully. Really I could not do anything else – in view of the tension.

A voice came from above our heads: "Jenny, are there any signs?"

"Not yet, dear," called Jenny, and waved her arms despairingly. "Ah!" She held up her hand and rose quickly to her feet. Now we heard the distant sound of hoofs. "I wonder if he's written to me or to her!" She started walking toward the drive.

"To you, I'll be bound!" I answered as I followed.

In a few moments the groom rode up. Jenny was waiting for him, took the letter from him, and opened it.

"No answer," she said. "Thank you. You'll ask them to give you a glass of beer, won't you?"

The man thanked her, touched his hat, and rode off to the servants' quarters.

"In old days the bearer of bad tidings wouldn't have got a glass of beer," I suggested.

"The tidings are doubtful." She gave me the letter: "He is terribly cut up. He promises me an answer to-morrow. I haven't told him yet that I must stick to it anyhow. That's for to-morrow, too, if it must come. My love to her. – Amyas."

"It'd be so much better if he never had to say that," Jenny reflected thoughtfully.

Certainly it would. If the thing could be managed without a rupture, without defiance on the one side or an unyielding posture on the other, it would be much more comfortable for everybody afterwards.

"Still, you know, he's ready to do it if he must." Her pride in her romantic handiwork spoke again.

Suddenly Margaret was with us, out of breath from her run downstairs, gasping out a prayer for the letter. Jenny gave it to her, and she read it. She looked up to Jenny with terrified eyes.

"He mustn't do it for me. I must give him up, Jenny," she murmured, woefully forlorn.

Very gently, just the least scornfully, Jenny answered, "We don't give things up at Breysgate." She stooped and kissed her. "Go and dream that it's all right. It will be by this time to-morrow. Austin and I have a little business to talk over."

Having thus dismissed Margaret (who carried off the precious distressful letter with her), Jenny led me back into the library, bidding me to go on smoking if I really must. She sat down, very thoughtful.

"It's delicate," she said. "Of course I'm trying to bribe him, but I don't want to seem to do it. If I make my offer before he decides, that looks like bribing. If he decides against us, and we make it then – bribery still! But in addition to bribery, there'll be the bad feeling between Amyas and him. No, we must do it before he decides! Only you'll have to be very diplomatic – very careful how you do it."

"I shall have to be?" I exclaimed fairly startled. "I – !"

"Well, I can't go to him, can I?" she asked. "That really would be too awkward!" She smiled at the thought of the suggested interview.

"Pens, ink, and paper!" I suggested, waving a hand toward the writing-table.

"No, no – I want the way felt. If you see he's going to give in without – without the bribe – of course you say nothing about it till he's consented. That'd be best of all; then there's no bribe really. But if he looks like deciding against us, then you tactfully offer the bribe. You must be feeling his mind all the time, Austin."

"And if he has already decided against us?"

She looked at me resolutely. "Remind him that it's not as bad as it might be."

"Bribe – and bully?"

"Yes." She met my eyes for a minute, then turned her head away, with a rather peevish twist of her lips.

"This is a pleasant errand to send a respectable man on! Do you want me to go to him at the Manor?"

"Yes – the very first thing after breakfast, so as to catch him, if you can, before he has had time to pronounce against us, if that's what he's going to do. A man surely wouldn't do a thing like that before breakfast! You'll go for me, Austin?"

"Of course I'll go for you if you want me to."

"Then I'll give you your instructions."

She gave them to me clearly, concisely, and with complete decision. I heard her in a silence broken only once – then by a low whistle from me. She ended and lay back in her chair, her eyes asking my views.

"You're in for another big row if you do this, you know," I remarked to her.

"Another row? With whom?"

"Why, with Cartmell, to be sure! It's so much more than's necessary."

"No, it's not," she declared rather hotly. "It may be more than's necessary for her, or perhaps for Lord Fillingford. It's not more than is necessary for me – nor for Leonard."

I shrugged my shoulders. She laughed rather impatiently. "One's friends always want one to be a niggard!" She leaned forward to me, breaking into a coaxing smile, "Remember 'the handsome thing,' dear Austin."

I came to her and patted her hand. "I'm with you right through. And, after all, you'll still have a roof over your head."

She looked at me with eyes merry, yet foreseeing. "I shan't be in at all a bad position." She laughed. "No harm in that – so long as it doesn't interfere with Margaret?"

"No harm in the world. I was only afraid that you'd lost sight of it."

Jenny sighed and smiled. "You needn't be afraid of such a complete transformation as that," she said.

CHAPTER XXV

A FRESH COAT OF PAINT

It was all very well to tell me that I must feel Fillingford's mind, but that possession of his had always seemed to me to achieve a high degree of intangibility. His words were not in the habit of disclosing more of it than was necessary for his purpose – without any regard for his interlocutor's – while his face reduced expression to a minimum. For all you got from looking at him, you might pretty nearly as well have talked with your eyes shut. That sudden stroke of surprise and relief at Alison's stood out in my memory as unique – the only real revelation of his feelings which I had seen reflected on his countenance. High demands were being made on me as an amateur diplomatist!

My arrival at the Manor was early – untimely probably, and certainly unexpected. The very butler showed surprise, and left me standing in the hall while he went to discover whether Fillingford could see me. Before this he had suggested that it was Lacey whom I really wanted and that, since Lacey had gone out riding directly after breakfast, my errand was vain. When I insisted that I knew whom I wanted, he gave way, still reluctantly; several minutes passed before he returned with the message that his lordship would receive me. He led me along a corridor, toward a door at the far end of it. To my consternation, as we approached that door, Lady Sarah came out of it – and came out with a good deal of meaning. She flounced out; and she passed me with angry eyes and her head erect. I felt quite sure that Lady Sarah had been against my being received at all that morning.

During previous visits to the Manor, I had not enjoyed the privilege of being shown Fillingford's study, in which I now found myself (not without qualms). It was a large room which mere neglect would have left beautiful; but, unlike the rest of the house, it appeared to have been methodically rendered depressing. His dour personality had – in his own sanctum – overpowered the native beauty of his house. Even the charming view of the old park was more than half hidden by blinds of an indescribably gloomy brown, which challenged to a match the melancholy of a drab carpet. Two or three good portraits were killed by their surroundings – but Fillingford himself seemed in a deadly harmony with his room. His thin gray face and whitening hair, his dull weary eyes, and his rounded shoulders, made him and his room rather suggestive of a funeral card – broad-edged in black, with a photograph of the late lamented in the middle – looking as dead as the intimation told one that unfortunately he was.

He rose for a moment to shake hands, indicating a chair for me close by the table at which he sat. The table was covered with papers and bundles, very neatly arranged; everything in the room was in its place to an inch.

"I'm glad to see you, Mr. Austin," he said in reply to my apology for so early a visit, "and if you come on business, as you say, the hour isn't at all too early for me." He was perfectly courteous – but dry as dust.

"I come on Miss Driver's behalf. As you are probably aware, your son Lord Lacey has done Miss Margaret Octon the honor of making her a proposal of marriage. Miss Octon is in the position of being under Miss Driver's care – I may perhaps call her her ward – and Miss Driver is anxious to know whether Lord Lacey's proposal has your approval."

"Has it Miss Driver's approval?" he asked.

"Most cordially – provided it has yours. Further than that she wouldn't wish to go without knowing your views."

He spoke slowly and deliberately. "You and I have approached this subject before – incidentally, Mr. Austin. I have little doubt that you gathered from that conversation that I had had another idea in my mind?"

"Yes, I rather understood that – from what you let fall."

"That idea was entirely erroneous, I suppose? Or, at all events, if ever entertained, is abandoned now?"

We had already got on to delicate ground. "The situation seems to speak for itself, Lord Fillingford. And I'm sure that the arrangement now proposed has always been desired by Miss Driver."

"Miss Driver has a very great influence over my son, I think," he remarked.

"I don't think she would wish to deny that she has favored this arrangement so far as she properly and legitimately could. She was naturally desirous of promoting Miss Octon's happiness. If in other respects the marriage was a very desirable one – well, she was entitled to think of that also."

"You consider that Miss Octon's feelings are deeply engaged in this matter?"

"If you ask me, I think the two young people are as much in love as any young couple could be."

"I know my son's feelings; he has made me aware of them. And Miss Driver thinks this marriage desirable?"

"She charged me to express the great pleasure she would take in it, if it met with your approval."

He sat silent for a moment, his hand up to his mouth as he bit his finger nail. For reasons I have given, to follow the trend of his thoughts was quite beyond my powers of discernment.

"I suppose I seem to her – and perhaps to you – a very ineffectual person?" he went on in his even voice, with his dull eyes (like a gas jet turned low to save the light!) – "I have the bad luck to stand half-way between two schools – two generations – of ideas. When I was born, men of my order still had fortunes; nowadays many of them have to set out to make fortunes – or at least careers – like other people. I've been stranded half-way. The fortunes of my house are gone; I've neither the power nor the taste to try to retrieve them; and I'm too old. Public life used to be the thing, but I've not the manners for that." His chilly smile came again. "So I sit on, watching the ruins falling into more utter ruin still."

It was not for me to say anything to that. But I had a new sympathy for him. His room, again, seemed to add a silent confirmation of all he said.

"Once I did try to retrieve the situation. You know how – and how the attempt ended. It served me right – and I've learned the lesson. Now the same woman asks me for my son."

"Not for herself!"

"No, thank God!"

He said that very deliberately – not carried away, meaning to let me have it for all it was worth. Well, my diplomacy failed – or I fear so. I did not like to hear him thank God for being quit of Jenny.

"She might have," I declared impulsively.

"I think you're right. She's a very clever woman. Young men are wax in hands like that."

"Shall we get back from what isn't in question to what is, Lord Fillingford?"

"I don't think that the digression was due to me – not wholly anyhow. If it were, I must seek excuse in the fact that I have lived a month under that nightmare." I must have given some sign of protest or indignation. "Well, I beg your pardon – under that impression."

"From that, at least, you're relieved – by the present arrangement."

"The proposed arrangement" – I noticed that he corrected my epithet – "has not my approval, Mr. Austin. The other day I called it ridiculous. That was perhaps too strong. But it is profoundly distasteful to me, and not at all to my son's interest. I wish to say plainly that I am doing and shall do my best to dissuade him from it."

"If he won't be dissuaded?"

"I venture to hope that we needn't discuss that eventuality. Time enough, if it should occur."

"Miss Octon's feelings – "

"What Miss Driver has – properly and legitimately as you maintain – used her efforts to promote, she will probably be able, with a little more trouble, to undo. That seems to me not my affair."

His defense was very quiet, very stubborn. He told me no more than suited him. But I was entitled to lay hold of the two grounds of objection which he had advanced; the arrangement was distasteful to him – and not at all to his son's interest.

"I thank you for your candor in putting me in possession of your views. Miss Driver would wish me to be equally frank with you. She has anticipated your objections."

"She could hardly do otherwise," he remarked, smiling faintly.

"As regards the first, her position is that this girl can't be held responsible for anything in the past. She, at least, is blameless."

"I occupy the position of my parents – and bear their burdens, Mr. Austin. So do you of yours. It's the way of the world, I'm afraid, and Miss Driver can't alter it."

"She regards this sentimental objection – "

"You would apply that term to my objection to allying my family with the late Mr. Octon's?"

I was not quite sure of my epithet myself. "I didn't say your objection wasn't natural."

"Perhaps you might go so far as to admit that it is inevitable? I on my part will admit that the girl herself appears to be unexceptionable. Indeed, I liked her very much, when I met her at our friend Alison's. That, however, doesn't in my view alter the case."

"I understand. Will you permit me to pass to the other point you mentioned – that of your son's interest?"

"If you please," he said, with a slight inclination of his head, as he leaned back in his chair. I could see that I had made no way with him. The best that we had hoped for was not coming to pass. There was to be no triumph of pure romance; even relief from the "nightmare" would not, by itself, serve the turn.

"Having placed Miss Octon in the position which she now occupies, Miss Driver naturally charges herself with Miss Octon's future."

"Miss Driver is well known to be generous. I had anticipated, in my turn, that she would propose to make some provision for Miss Octon who, as I understand, has only a very small income of her own."

"Miss Driver has recently concluded negotiations for the purchase of Oxley Lodge, together with the whole of Mr. Bertram Ware's estate. It is estimated that, freed from encumbrances, that estate will produce a net rental of three thousand pounds a year. Miss Driver will present the house and estate to Miss Octon on her marriage."

He raised his brows slightly, but made no other comment than, "I had heard that she was in treaty for Ware's place. Aspenick told me."

"She will settle on Miss Octon a sum of money sufficient to make up this income to the sum of ten thousand pounds a year. This income she will increase to twenty thousand on Lord Lacey's succession to the title. She will also present Miss Octon, on her marriage, with a lump sum of fifty thousand pounds. She will execute a settlement of funds sufficient to raise the income to thirty thousand on her death – this income to be settled on Miss Octon for life, with remainder among her children as she and her husband shall jointly appoint. I am also to inform you that, without undertaking any further legal obligation, it is Miss Driver's present intention to leave to Miss Octon, or (if Miss Octon predeceases her) to any son of hers who is heir to your title, the estate of Breysgate and the greater part of her Catsford property. I need not tell you that that property is of great and growing value. In short, subject to public claims and certain comparatively small private ones, Miss Octon is to be regarded as her natural heir no less absolutely and completely than if she were her own and her only child."